A Decent Proposal
by BeccaRamsey
Summary: After "The Princess and the Pea," Bruce makes an offer that Diana realizes she can't refuse. (BM/WW; originally written and published, 2009).


**Author's Note:** Thanks again to Alli for the beta-read. Errors, omissions, and any other screw-ups you find are my fault alone. Follows on the end of "The Princess and the Pea." It is recommended you catch that one first, then move on to this one.

Also, I opted to take my cues on Dick Grayson from the Batman: The Animated Series, possibly extrapolating a bit from there - I make no reference here to him being either Robin or Nightwing, just a "caped crusader." While JL may seem to draw on the Batclan in "Gotham Knights," I hadn't seen any of those episodes as of writing this, so I stuck with "what I knew."

* * *

Diana lazily opened her eyes, hypnotized into a contented lull by the steady rise and fall of Bruce's chest beneath her and the intoxicating warmth of their bodies trapped under the comforter. Were it up to her, she'd stay exactly where she was for the remainder of the day. Through the window she could see the first hints of daylight peeking over the horizon, however, and she knew she'd have to move far too soon for her liking. Bruce had a meeting and she had, well, nothing particular planned…

There was a catch in his breathing and she knew he was waking up. His right arm tightened around her, even as the rest of his body arched, stretching. Diana shifted slightly, drawing even closer, and rolled her head over so that her chin rested against his pectorals. A goofy grin split her features. "Good morning," she said.

Bruce smiled back at her, his amusement plainly written across his features. "'Morning," he responded. Diana could feel the rumble of his voice as he spoke. "Sleep well?"

"Eventually." A lock of hair fell into her eyes, blocking her line of sight. Unwilling to surrender her embrace of Bruce, she blew upward, attempting to force it out of the way. The attempt failed. She watched through the strands of hair as Bruce gently brushed back the offending strands and tucked it behind her ear. Her lips twisted into a dangerous grin. "You?"

"Eventually."

In the silence, Diana studied his features, committing them to memory. They were safe here, warm beneath the blankets and cocooned in the afterglow of earlier activities. There were no worry lines at his eyes, no frown tugging down at his lips. On the contrary, his eyes were bright with affection and his smile was contagious – both enough to let her know that even Batman could find happiness. That she had helped bring about the reprieve warmed her heart in a way she couldn't explain. She could only hope this was the first of many mornings she would see it.

"Any plans for the day, Princess?"

"None that don't involve random acts of heroism," she replied. Inwardly, she gave a sigh of relief. There were no questions, no regrets about the earlier morning. She fought a yawn and lost. "I don't have the most active social calendar."

"They say all work and no play isn't very healthy." Bruce smirked. "Even for an Amazon."

"Perhaps you should follow that little pearl of wisdom for yourself, 'tough guy.' Or don't you have a meeting this morning?"

Diana felt his leg curl around hers and, before she could blink, found herself pinned beneath him. He lowered his head and kissed her gently, reverently on the lips. When he drew back, he was grinning. "Yes, I have a meeting this morning," he replied, "…but not until nine."

The princess glanced at the clock. Vivid red numbers proclaimed it just after six. Looking back to Bruce, she smiled. "What'd you have in mind?"

His grin twisted decidedly lopsided and she couldn't miss the impish gleam in his eyes. "Care to join me in the shower?"

"Hmm," she said, adopting a coquettish expression. Then, executing a move similar to his, she turned the tables, pinning _him_ to the mattress. She laughed. "I'd love to."

* * *

Wrapped snugly in a thick terrycloth robe several sizes too large for her, the princess seated herself at the small breakfast table in the far corner of Bruce's bedroom. A large silver tray had appeared while they were showering. Her blue eyes made a quick appraisal: toast, jam, marmalade, tea, sugar and creamer, and two small places, each with two fried eggs; a newspaper lay to the side. It wasn't a large breakfast, but Bruce didn't seem to be the "breakfast type." Diana was willing to bet Alfred had quite a time trying to get him to eat before work in the mornings.

Tenor notes wafted from the bathroom and she smiled. He was humming as he shaved. Her mind drifted back to the performance Zatanna had shown her in the magician's crystal ball. The song today was different, the tone more hopeful than mournful; Diana hoped it was a reflection of his mood. _Well, he can't brood_ all _the time_, she thought, still smiling.

The sound of rushing water could be heard and Bruce emerged a moment later, patting his face dry with a white towel. He draped the towel around his neck, then re-tucked the towel around his waist. At the sight of Diana's smile, he stopped. "That's quite a smile, Princess."

"I was just thinking how good it is to hear you hopeful," she replied.

A twinkle lit his eyes as a grin tugged upward at the corners of his lips. Catching the import of the silent communication, Diana felt heat creep across her cheeks. Blinking, she suddenly turned her attention to the pot of tea, pouring herself a cup. She ventured a look back to him as she returned the pot to its original location. He was watching her intently. "Tea?" she asked, squirming slightly.

Bruce smiled. "No, thank you." He took the ends of the towel around his neck, briskly tousling his hair with them, drying the excess water. "We'll have coffee and pastry at the meeting."

"You really should try and eat something." The princess gave a smirk. "You've been quite…active since dinner."

"You sound almost like Alfred." With a chuckle, Bruce moved over to his armoire, opening the doors wide and standing before it. His lips pursed as he considered the contents, a vast array of suits. "He's constantly trying to get me to eat in the mornings."

"Smart man, Alfred."

"Careful," he began, withdrawing a single-breasted black suit. "If he hears you siding with him, he'll be insufferable for weeks."

"Or months, even." Her reward was a sharp glare, tempered with a slight smile.

A comfortable silence fell over the room as he dressed and she browsed the front page while sipping her tea. When she looked back to him, he had disposed of the towel, clad now in his pants, white dress shirt, and belt. His jacket lay neatly across the bed, shoes resting beside the nightstand. He reached into the armoire, withdrawing two ties: one a deep burgundy, the other a slate blue. His brows arched in silent inquiry.

As much as she herself loved red, her eyes were drawn to the blue. It seemed to suit him better, she thought, being more understated; the burgundy seemed almost too vibrant for the man she knew him to be. Perfect for Bruce Wayne, she reasoned, but not for _her_ Bruce. "The blue," she answered at length.

"The blue." Bruce returned the burgundy tie to the armoire, then set about putting on the blue tie. Looping the silk length around itself, he said hesitantly, "I've been thinking about our conversation last night."

Diana frowned. "I'm sorry if I seemed too harsh –"

"No," he interrupted. "You were right. I invited you here, then expected you to understand what was going on, how I live like this." He paused, giving a rueful smile. "I didn't give you a copy of the alter ego rule book. I..."

"Apology accepted…but you already knew that." Diana gave a wry grin, but her mind was whirling. Saying he was sorry had never been easy for the Batman, even in the persona of Bruce Wayne. But where was he going with this?

"Thank you." He finished tying the double Windsor and adjusted it slightly. He brought it to rest just below his Adams apple, in perfect alignment with the collar of his shirt. "I've been thinking, too, abut how to 'make it appropriate' for us. I might have an idea – a solution to _both_ problems."

At this, Diana arched her brows. She had expected they would discuss options, but she hadn't expected ideas this soon. _Then again,_ she thought, _this is Bruce. He doesn't_ stop _thinking._ Her brows knitted as her eyes followed him across the room to retrieve his shoes. "What _kind_ of solution?"

"Ever thought about hiding in plain sight?"

"In plain sight?" Diana questioned. The implication of his suggestion settled on her with no small amount of surprise. "Adopt an alter ego?" She watched as Bruce nodded, and she drew her knees to her chin, careful to keep herself draped in the terrycloth. "I…don't know, Bruce. Subterfuge is your line of work, not mine; it's a little alien to me."

Expression almost affectionate, Bruce crossed and stood beside her, dropping a reassuring hand to her shoulder. "If you don't want to, it's all right, Diana," he said. "We'll find another way. Just…think about it."

"I will. Think about it, that is." She sighed, then looked up at him. Smiling as she rose from her seat, she stood and smoothed her hands over his chest, now clad in the crisp, white dress shirt. The blue silk tie shimmered slightly in the light, and she couldn't resist the urge to straighten it. Her lips twitched as she fought a grin. "Don't you have a meeting to get to?"

"Trying to get rid of me already?" His voice gained that low, dangerous quality she had come to know well. Unlike when it was used on villains, however, it was tempered with a hint of warmth and veiled suggestion when he spoke to her.

Diana opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a soft tap at the door. She knew without a doubt that it was Alfred, as did Bruce. Returning to her seat, she received a wink from her enigmatic host and he crossed to answer the door. "Yes, Alfred?"

The English butler glanced over his charge, satisfied with his suit selection. His eyes flitted to Diana, then back to Bruce. Diana was sure she saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his features. Clearing his throat, he regained his composure. "Ah, good, Master Bruce. I was afraid you might have overslept."

"No, Alfred, I didn't," Bruce replied. He shook his head with a smirk and grabbed his jacket from off the bed. Alfred took it from him, allowing him to slip into it. "Is the car ready?"

"Indeed it is, sir. I thought perhaps the convertible today. It is a lovely day outside."

Bruce glanced past Diana to the window. The grey of early morning had cleared, replaced by a clear, sunny day. He passed a quick glance to her, then looked back to his butler-confidante. "A good choice, Alfred."

"Very well, Master Bruce. I shall be waiting downstairs, when you are ready." Alfred offered a slight nod of his head. He looked to Diana. "Your Highness." With another nod, he turned and disappeared into the corridor.

Watching him leave, Diana sighed. "He's wonderful, Bruce."

He nodded in silent agreement, then reached out. She offered her hand and he pulled her to her feet. "Think about what I said?"

"I will."

"Good." His lips twitched as his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. "See you later?"

"Of course."

Giving what she could only classify as a sigh of relief, he kissed her hand gently, his lips lingering against her skin. He turned. "See you tonight," he said over his shoulder. Diana watched his imposing form disappear into the corridor. She waited a long moment before attempting to breathe again. A laugh escaped her lips, bubbling up with the giddiness of a new love and romance.

As the laughter faded, however, she sighed. Bruce's suggestion replayed in her mind. "An alter ego?" she questioned aloud. Could it really work? Who could she become? Her eyes glanced down at the bracelets encircling her wrists. And how could she hide _these_? She shook her head, amazed she was even contemplating the possibilities. Was Bruce worth this much complication? "Hera, give me strength!"

* * *

Meeting, Bruce mused, was perhaps not the right word for the gathering that morning at Wayne Enterprises. Control of the company was as essential to his Bruce Wayne persona as it was for Batman, and thus he had made it a priority to make his stockholders feel secure in his leadership. As part of the continual campaign, he had instituted these breakfast gatherings: a couple of hours on a Saturday morning, twice a month, where he provided the best Kona coffee money could buy, as well as a wide offering of gourmet pastries, prepared fruits, and hot teas. He played the role of wealthy playboy Bruce Wayne, and the shareholders were able to bend his ear, offer their input, and feel that they were heard – all before tee-off and lunch at the club. The result was a group of satisfied shareholders, stable leadership for the corporation, and continued financial support for Batman. All in all, a fair trade off for a few hours of his Saturday morning, he decided.

Of course, most Saturday mornings, he wasn't leaving Diana of Themyscira in his bedroom, clad in only his bathrobe. She was just as stunning then as she had been in the red silk dress the previous night. A mischievous grin slipped across his features before he was able to smother it. Despite his neutral expression, his eyes still burned with a devilish intensity. And she was all his…

…Or was she?

"If this is something we both want, it will work out. _We_ will work it out," she had said. At that moment, he so desperately wanted to believe that – to believe that they could work things out, to have a relationship, to _love_ – he had been willing to take her words at face value. And just like that, the twig snapped, and he plunged head first into the passion, frustration, and longing of the past months. Still, he had no regrets. His only worry was that this, like all the other relationships before, would fall apart around his guarded vulnerability. Furrowing his brows in thought, his lips drew taut in concentration. Diana said "whatever it takes" – but did she really mean it, he wondered. And would his suggestion of an alter ego really solve the problem?

"Isn't it a little early for brooding?"

Dragged from his introspection by recognition of a familiar voice, Bruce blinked and looked up. Young and energetic, a smirking Dick Grayson stood before him, hair tousled, and one hand stuck in the pocket of his khaki slacks. The other hand held a plastic cup, filled with a tan liquid. Save the pressed pants and polo shirt, he looked every bit the average college student. His grin widened as he saw he had Bruce's attention. "Or didn't you get any sleep last night?"

Bruce cut him a glare, the severity of which was hampered by the smile he fought. "No less than usual," he answered. "What brings you out of bed so early on a Saturday?"

Dick reached for a scone on the buffet table. He took a healthy bite, chasing it with a sip from the plastic cup. "Since when have you known a college student to pass up free food?" He gave a chuckle. "I figured it was worth dressing up to get my hands on one or two of these scones. I can never remember where you get them, but they're incredible." Pausing, he took another long draw from his drink. "Besides, the place downstairs has killer iced mochas."

Shaking his head, Bruce slipped off the suit jacket and hung it on a hook near the door. He was by far the most formally dressed; the other attendees came clad in pre-golf course attire. Returning to Dick, he grabbed a plate and took a scone for himself. "Still searching out free food, even with my backing? You'll make it look like I'm not feeding you, Dick."

"It's the principle of the thing," Grayson replied. He gave a rueful smile. "I fit in a little better if I go scrounging like everyone else."

At this, Bruce nodded. As Bruce Wayne he attracted enough attention that it deflected interest from activities that might otherwise not be overlooked; as Batman, it was important that he blend into the darkness – both mental and physical – to appear menacing, powerful, and intangible. Joining him in his crusade, it was equally important that Dick Grayson fall into that gray area of memorable-but-not-memorable, much the way Superman disguised himself as Clark Kent. Who would suspect Dick Grayson, average college student and ward of Bruce Wayne, as another caped crusader? No one – and that was just the way they wanted it.

"So… You never answered my question."

"I wasn't brooding."

"Could've fooled me." Dick shot him a skeptical glance.

Bruce turned away, looking out the windows of the large meeting room. Behind him, he could hear the murmur of voices as the several knots of stockholders swapped gossip and handicaps. Bruce Wayne, for the moment, wasn't needed. "I was… thinking."

"Mmm. The difference is staggering." Taking another bite of his scone, the younger man studied the hardened profile before him carefully. He swallowed. "Another of our friends hatching a plot?"

"Thankfully, no. All seem to be sleeping fitfully at Arkham – for now." Bruce glanced at Dick's reflection in the tinted window. He could sense his curiosity, felt a game of twenty questions coming on.

"Then who is she?"

Wayne struggled to keep a neutral expression. _Or only two questions…_ "She?"

Dick grinned through his mouthful of scone. "One of the first things you taught me, Bruce, was to never answer a question with a question."

"I didn't think you were paying attention."

"You'd be surprised what I pick up on. Now… who is she?"

Bruce placed aside his scone and sipped his coffee. His eyes remained on the Gotham skyline. His jaw tightened under Dick's scrutiny, and he could feel the muscles begin to tick as he contemplated his options. "Let's just say…she's an old friend."

"All right, Bruce. Keep your secrets," Dick shook his head with a laugh, "but will the mystery woman mind if I come home for the weekend?"

Pausing a moment, Bruce considered his question. He gave a lopsided grin. "I'm sure she'd love it. But do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Try not to scare her off."

Grayson chuckled. "If you and your…issues… haven't done that already, then I've got nothing to worry about." He shook his head. "See you at home."

* * *

"I do wish you'd permit me, Your Highness."

Looking up from the cucumber she was slicing, Diana smiled at the hovering butler. She supposed she was driving the poor man to distraction, but after two hours by the pool, she had to do _something_ for herself. He had spent the better part of the morning serving her tea and lemonade with the occasional light snack. The least she could do was prepare her own lunch. "It's all right, Alfred," she said. "Really. I've been feeding myself for years."

"And I'm certain you're quite capable of—" Alfred's retort was broken by the resounding tones of the doorbell. His back stiffened slightly. "If you'll pardon me, Miss?"

"By all means." Shaking her head as Alfred disappeared toward the front door, the princess sighed. Perhaps her day would have been better spent aboard the Watchtower, training, she mused. At least then, she'd have been able to take her frustrations out on the droids. "And worked through things in my own way," she muttered to herself.

At this thought Diana stopped and frowned. What _was_ keeping her here today? With Bruce gone to his meeting, she really had no excuse to linger. She could just as easily have flown to the Watchtower, and then returned later in the evening. Yet linger she did, lounging by the pool, sneaking briefly into the cave to check in with the League, and now preparing her own lunch. Images played across her mind's eye and a smile threatened; she knew why she stayed.

It was also possible, she mused, that consideration of Bruce's earlier proposal seemed somehow more appropriate on his home "turf." He was, after all, the master at subterfuge. Her mind whirled back to the Thanagarian occupation. Neither Flash nor Lantern had any clue prior to his unmasking that he was Bruce Wayne; such detective work was usually best left to Batman. Still, hiding as civilians had bought the core League members – Bruce, herself, Clark, Wally, John, and J'onn – much needed time to regroup and reorganize. Of those core members only she and J'onn had no "civilian" lives to fall back on. Lantern had at least, at one time, been a Marine, and J'onn with his shapeshifting abilities, was able to pass easily as human. She, however, was still Diana of Themyscira, now matter how she was dressed. Were a similar situation to arise, how easy would it be to track her as Wonder Woman? As Diana of Themyscira? She looked at her reflection in the polished marble countertop. Too easy, she realized.

Now there was the added complication of her relationship with Bruce. Batman and Wonder Woman could never be seen having a personal relationship – it just didn't work that way. Not only did it set a poor example for the League's growing membership, but it also set them up as potential targets for adversaries seeking to hurt one or the other. Similar scenarios could put Bruce's identity on the line as well. After all, how long would it be before Circe or other enemies from her past resurfaced, capturing her "human" boyfriend, expecting him to be the helpless Bruce Wayne? Diana shook her head. No, she couldn't risk that, either. Bruce's duality was as essential to him as breathing. Disrupting it wouldn't do him – and by extension, her – any good.

Moreover, she knew now that she wanted to be with him as long as the Fates permitted. When she had spoken the previous night of doing whatever it took, she meant it; it hadn't simply been a function of his proximity and her longing. His attentions that morning had only cemented the idea. Thus, the more she thought about his proposal, the more she realized it was exactly what was necessary.

Alfred's return to the kitchen shook her from her reverie. Her eyes widened in surprise when she noted a younger, dark haired man accompanied him. She hadn't been expecting company. "Diana of Themyscira," he began coolly, "may I present Master Dick Grayson. Master Dick, Princess Diana of Themyscira."

Putting aside the knife, Diana reached out with her right hand. "_Former_ Princess of Themyscira," she corrected. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister Grayson."

Grayson took the offered hand, stunned. "A-a pleasure," he said, stumbling over his words. "I'm sorry… I…he didn't mention…" He shook his head, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. "An 'old friend,' he said!"

"I take it, then, Master Bruce's gift for understatement is still intact?"

"Let's just say," Dick began, borrowing his mentor's words, "that I wasn't expecting Wonder Woman to be standing in our kitchen. Not under, uhm, _these_ circumstances." He exchanged glances with Alfred.

The princess swallowed and fought a blush as she nervously tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. While she had no regrets concerning her actions the night before, she wasn't sure she was quite ready for her night with Bruce to be common knowledge. That Grayson seemed to understand left her somewhat uncomfortable. "I…was just about to have some lunch. Would you like to join me?"

"I'd love to," the younger man said. He gave her a reassuring smile.

Diana turned to Alfred, offering him the knife, handle first. "All right, all right! I surrender, Alfred," she said with a laugh. "Would it be all right if we had lunch on the patio?"

"I think that would be most acceptable, Miss." Alfred took the knife with a nod. "If you'll pardon me, I'll finish the vegetables and bring your sandwiches presently."

The princess gave him a warm smile. "And Alfred?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Thanks." Grinning, she spun on her heel and followed Dick Grayson out onto the patio.

* * *

Watching her disappear into the next room, Alfred narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. Having departed the kitchen to a rather passionate…discussion…in the early morning hours, discovering the princess in Master Bruce's bedroom later that morning had not been much of a surprise. Yet he had to admit some pleasure in the event, and seeing Bruce happy was an added bonus; such moments were too few and too far between. The princess herself also seemed relaxed in her new role, practically glowing from his attentions.

Throughout the day, however, he had noticed a slight change in her. She was slipping into long moments of deep introspection, as though something weighed heavily on her mind. He strongly suspected it might have something to do with thoughts of a continued relationship with Bruce Wayne: It was clear, even to him, that it was impossible for Wonder Woman to be seen publicly in a relationship with the playboy, much less in a relationship with Batman. He recognized immediately that the solution would have to be an alternate identity for the princess – a princess who had railed so strongly against the idea the previous night. He shook his head. No wonder she had been so restless.

Alfred placed aside the freshly cut vegetables and turned his attention to the refrigerator. Reaching in, he withdrew the container of chicken salad he had prepared earlier in the day. He stirred the concoction, then proceeded to spread it over two slices of bread. Sealing the container, he returned it to the refrigerator.

Would adopting such an identity change the princess, he wondered, turning back to the sandwiches. He sliced them, his lips pursed in thought. She was quite the opposite of his Master Bruce: He preferred to listen and observe, hovering in dark shadows and solitude, while she was openly passionate and strove for action, content to work with or without the League. They respected each other for what they could accomplish and that went a great distance, as far as Alfred was concerned, in explaining their attraction. But being so open and forthright, would bottling up such feelings change the essence of what the princess was? Or could they find a persona for her that would channel her efforts in an equally important direction?

Shaking his head, Alfred sighed. It really was a great deal to think about…which explained the princess' earlier distractions. Still, when she had departed for the patio, the spring was back in her step and the mischievous gleam back in her eye. Whatever it was, she had reached her decision. And, though her continued presence seemed to indicate that decision, he knew that, as confidante and co-conspirator, he would learn soon enough what it was.

* * *

The house was quiet as Bruce slipped in the front door, jacket slung over his shoulder. Light poured through the house, curtains drawn back, gently warming the room. Crossing the foyer, he made his way into the kitchen. He'd never look on _that_ room the same way again, he thought. He was surprised to find it empty, the overhead lighting turned off. He frowned. "Alfred?" he asked into the silence. "Diana?"

Peals of laughter – male and female – echoed through the empty house. Cocking his head to one side, Bruce made his way to investigate, dropping his jacket on the back of a breakfast nook chair as he did so. He found Diana and Dick seated at the patio table, with Alfred standing nearby.

"…and so, here was little Master Bruce, hanging upside down from the staircase, wearing nothing but his underclothes, a towel pinned around his neck," Alfred said, twinkle to his eyes. "Mrs. Wayne was quite distressed! Thankfully, Master Wayne and I were able to talk him down…"

Diana tossed her head back and laughed again, clearly amused by the story. Hovering in the doorway, Bruce couldn't help but smile at the sound. "The little daredevil!"

"He really was quite taken with the Grey Ghost back then." Alfred smiled. His voice was warm with affection when he spoke, and his eyes drifted toward Bruce, who stepped forward from the shadows of the house. "Weren't you, sir?"

The smile he wore, hearing Diana's laughter, slipped sideways into a superficial smirk, but anger roiled just beneath the surface. His past was something he wasn't always ready to share with Dick Grayson, much less Diana. She read him so well already that his mask frequently seemed superfluous; the hold she had over his heart left him feeling exposed before her. Sharing such intimate moments with her – despite the recent turn of events – only heightened his feeling of vulnerability. His voice was calm, but deep when he spoke. "Telling stories out of school again, Alfred?"

Alfred arched his brow, recognizing the tone. He was not, however, taking the bait. "It has been quite a while since I've been in school of any kind, Master Bruce," he replied pointedly. He looked to Diana and Dick, forcing a taut smile. "If you'll pardon me, it seems I should be doing something else."

Bruce watched as the older man stiffened, then brushed past him. It was constantly amazing to him how much Alfred could say without _saying_ anything. The disdain in his tone – carefully treading the line between respect and impertinence, followed by his straightened posture spoke loudly that the man felt he had done nothing wrong. If he were honest with himself, Bruce thought, Alfred really _hadn't_ done anything wrong. But vulnerability was not an issue easily dismissed. He moved and seated himself next to Diana, only to find her glaring at him. A similarly dark expression distorted Grayson's features as well.

"And you asked _me_ not to scare people off," Dick muttered. He shook his head, tossing his napkin on the table. "When you get your act together, _Master Bruce_, I'll be in the dojo." He looked to Diana. "Princess."

Diana waved. "See you later, Dick." She watched him disappear back into the house, then turned her attention back to her lemonade. "You know, Alfred really didn't deserve that. He was just telling a story."

"An embarrassing one. From my childhood." Frowning, Bruce watched her carefully. She was avoiding his eyes, and when they finally met, he saw her blue eyes blazing with anger. It was only through sheer will, he knew, that she stayed seated and didn't deck him.

"One that you're not ready to share."

It was a statement and not a question – a testament to how well she could read him. "There are things I'm not ready to share, Diana. Even with you. Even after last night." He set his jaw and looked at her. "And there are some things I may never be able to share. If you can't deal with that, then maybe this isn't going to work."

He watched as her eyes grew wide, and his heart twisted just a little. Inwardly, he winced, realizing just how cruel the words were – especially if he were her first lover; he regretted saying them almost the moment they slipped past his lips. But so many years of intense solitude were hard to bypass. He didn't _want_ her to leave. Hell, she could move in, for all he cared right now, so long as she didn't leave. Still, his lips wouldn't form the apology, his mind refusing to produce the proper words. Then her eyes narrowed, and he knew he wouldn't have to.

"You're not getting off that easy, Bruce."

"Oh?"

Diana shook her head. She leveled her gaze at him and he casually wondered if she had met Medusa - the look she was giving him was pure ice. "I said last night we'd do whatever it takes. That includes arguing around your stubbornness." She leant forward. "The easy thing right now would be to shut me out; to run, screaming in the other direction. You want me to leave?" Shaking her head, she gave a wicked grin. "Not a chance. I've finally found someone worth keeping in Man's World, and I'm not letting go."

Bruce fought hard to keep his relief from reaching the surface. "If that's the way you want it, Princess." He stood and offered his hand. She took it hesitantly, still defiant in her anger. Once she rose, he tugged abruptly at her hand, catching her off balance. By the time she caught herself, her face was inches from his. "Why do I get the feeling," he said, dropping his voice into the octaves usually reserved for the cape and cowl, "things are going to be a constant tug of war between us?"

"Because you're the rich kid with issues, and I'm the bossy girlfriend?" Diana grinned. Her lips crashed against his, warm and full, as her arm snaked around his neck. He instinctively deepened the kiss, and she closed the space between them.

He drew back after several heated moments. Things were quickly getting out of hand, and he still had one unanswered question. "I assume this means you're taking me up on my suggestion."

The princess placed her hand against his cheek. She nodded. "On one condition."

"And that would be?"

"I get a copy of the secret identity handbook."

"There is no handbook, Princess." He dropped kisses along the curve of her shoulder, working his way up her neck to just behind her ear. "Just personal instruction," he whispered.

A smirk curled Diana's lips. "I think I can handle that."

* * *

Dick Grayson tied the drawstring of his pants, padding barefoot into the kitchen. He found Alfred there, beginning preparations for dinner. Reaching past him, Dick grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then leaned slightly to the left, peering out the kitchen windows. He raised his brows, taking a long drink from the bottle. "They been like this all week?" he asked.

"Only since this morning," Alfred replied. He casually began pressing a layer of peppercorn into the rather large steaks.

"This _morning_?" Dick nearly choked on his drink.

"It's best they get it out of their systems now, else they'll be of no help to the League." He sighed. "Three years is, after all, a very long time to play cat and mouse."

Glancing out the window, Dick frowned. "But who's the cat and who's the mouse?"

Alfred paused, teetering on one leg so he, too, could glance out the window. Scarlet red crept up his neck, heat spreading across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, turning attention back to the steaks. "I dare say they're still figuring that out."

"Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I think it's just you and me for dinner." He clapped Alfred on the shoulder. "Let me know when it's ready." Sighing as he exited the kitchen, he wondered if he should have come home this weekend at all.


End file.
